


On The Edge

by Sylvia Knight (Gayle)



Series: Descending Horizon [4]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-01-01
Updated: 1989-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayle/pseuds/Sylvia%20Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and Avon visit the night life of Edge City in search of Vila and have several encounters that force them to face their feelings for each other and deal with their past mistakes.</p><p>Previously published in the fanzine Resistance #3.</p><p>Last part of the Descending Horizon series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Edge

"Vila," Blake said into his communicator, "we're ready to teleport."

"Vila is not on board."

"Not on....  All right, Orac, **you** can teleport us up."

"Very well."

Orac's variegated lights blinked at them as they materialized on the transporter pad.  The machine whirred and glittered - Blake could have sworn it was with malicious delight.

"Off playing the fool again, is he?" Jenna remarked.  "Perhaps we should have left him on Goth."

"Why limit his field of operation?  On Goth he would have been a rather tawdry court jester, aboard the Liberator he has the opportunity to be a superlative fool anywhere in the galaxy."  Avon countered acidly.

Blake was not amused.  There were times when Vila displayed the all the stability of a gnat.  "He **knew** we wanted to leave orbit as soon as the we'd made the purchase," he said, scowling.

"He knew **you** wanted to leave." Avon emphasized.  "Obviously, he was not about to let you deprive him of an opportunity to incapacitate himself in such a renowned center of hedonism as Edge City."

"We'll have to find him."

"Blake," Jenna said, "I'll wake Cally.  We can install the microtubing in the neutron flare shield activator.  You and Avon can conduct the hunt for Vila..." she smiled at him, "presuming he can be found."

"Right,"  he forced himself to smile back, grateful for some practical help.  She departed, box of microtubing in hand, and he turned his attention back to Orac.  It chirruped as he approached it.  "Orac, where is Vila?  What's he up to?  When did he leave?"

"Vila Restal departed the ship fifty-seven minutes ago.  His purported objective was to 'get supremely sloshed and scrumptiously screwed'.  He did not see fit to inform me of his chosen destination."

"Ah...." Avon interposed delicately, "did he perchance seek your advice in **choosing** possible places of visitation?"

"Aside from certain outlandish rumors, he was unfamiliar with the recreational facilities offered in Edge City.  He requested intensive research on my part.  I protested this as an exceptionally trivial use of my abilities."

"I'm sure both Blake and I concur in your assessment, Orac.  But you did, eventually, supply Vila with the names of several suitable establishments, did you not?"

"Of course.  I complied a list of some thirty seven night clubs, bars and houses of...."

"Thirty-seven...!" Blake groaned.

"...And the most highly recommended of these establishments were...?"  Avon asked the computer.

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The Crystal Club was closed, due to open again, soon, under new management which promised cooler jazz and hotter sex.

"Orac is slipping."

From the smug look on Avon's face, Blake knew Orac would not be allowed to forget it either.  Personally, he was not doing well at restraining his impatience.  He scrounged in his pocket for the list of addresses.  "This is the fourth place we've looked, Avon."

"Out of six.  Offered in alphabetical order.  I should have thought to ask for further specification - no doubt Vila had a more definitive rating system.  Of course, the first two domiciles were more suited to the second part of the program, and the last club was entirely too sedate, all implication and no action."

Stuffing the list back in his pocket, Blake pointed ahead.  The next place was quite close, a couple of minutes walk.  They started up the street.   "You're right, it didn't seem to be Vila's style at all."




"It's possible he's gone slumming in a neighborhood more compatible with typical Delta grade sensibilities, but I rather suspect that we'll find him wallowing in the luxurious lap of one of the last two of Orac's prestigious offerings.  We're looking for something both posh and pornographic."

"He may also have found himself some female companionship by this time - he's probably holed up somewhere getting 'scrumptiously screwed'."

"It hasn't been that long, Blake.  Knowing Vila, he'll still be involved in the initial process of getting 'supremely sloshed'."

"Let's hope so."

"One wonders why he bothers with these adventures, when the only thing he remembers is the miserable aftermath."

"I suppose he remembers he had a good time forgetting."

"You do realize, Blake, that this entire search is a tedious waste of time?  It would be far simpler to return to the Liberator and wait till Vila reappears tomorrow, too wretched to warrant further punishment, begging to be adorned with his necklace of teeth...."

"No."

"Not with Star One looming on the horizon, you mean?  Will you be unbearably insecure if you cannot get a full body count any given moment?  Ticking us off, one by one, on your fingers?"

"He's liable to mislay his bracelet," Blake said, deliberately ignoring the last remark.

"More likely his head."

"I want him found."

"Simple enough.  If he's not in one in these establishments, we can move on to the second print-out - there's only another thirty-one choices, after all."

Blake sighed.  Avon was right, it was probably a futile quest.  "Very well, if he's not in one of these last two places, we'll go back to the Liberator."

"Well now, this plenitude of bright lights and bare flesh does begin to work on one," Avon gestured at the flamboyant setting.  "I might fancy a night on the town myself."

"No!" He barked it, even knowing the suggestion was deliberate needling.  Of course, if he were fool enough to say 'Suit yourself', Avon would do it just to unnerve him.  Typically, the refusal, expected as it was, aggravated the situation.

"The Liberator is beginning to bear an uncomfortable resemblance to the London," Avon remarked sharply.  "You'll have us confined in our seats next."

"Here we are," Blake said in relief.  Another minute and needles would be knives.

Above them, floating letters of fluorescent blue neon looped across a black marble facade, casting vivid shadows on the polished surface.  "The Velvet Void," Blake read.  It sounded far more ridiculous pronounced out loud, somehow, than it looked printed out on a plastic flimsy.  The nasty glint in Avon's eyes suddenly warmed to genuine amusement.  Blake smiled at him,  "Sounds like somewhere Vila would like to get lost."

"Well, it's certainly posh."

"Exorbitant is more like it," Blake muttered as he paid the cover charge, fifty credits apiece this time.

Passing through the entrance, a force field that shimmered like star-speckled space and sent a pleasant, shivery tingling across their skin, they entered The Velvet Void.  True to its theme, the club was designed to give the sense of drifting in space, the ceiling, walls, and floor were all matte or shiny black.  Loops and twists of neon - pink, purple, red and blue - reflected their colors against gleaming black lacquer and marble.  Small tables crowded the available floor space, and booths and pillowed alcoves of plush black velvet hugged the walls.  There were four interconnecting sections, each fitted with its own bar, servicing the customers who surrounded the centerpiece of each section - a small stage featuring a live erotic performance.  Each stage presented a different sexual combination.  Music with a sultry, pulsing beat reverberated in the air.  In the back there was also a dance floor, for those who preferred tactile to visual stimulation.  Waiters and waitresses drifted by, their black chiffon body suits spangled with sequined arrows pointing the attention to pertinent areas of interest.

"And pornographic...." Avon added dryly.  "Looks quite promising."

With Avon standing beside him, Blake did not want to dwell on the two males exuberantly fucking on the closest stage.  He began scanning the crowd for Vila.  Cautious as ever, Avon marked the back exits and pointed them out to Blake.  He nodded.  "I'll take the right side, you take the left.  Meet you back here in five minutes if there's no success."

Blake was not quite out of hearing when a familiar voice rose through the crowd.  "Avon, ol' pal.  How ya doin'?"  Blake reversed direction.  Despite Vila's indiscretion, he couldn't help grinning, imagining Avon's wince at the sodden address.  The comment came from the vicinity of the stage where a dark haired woman was slowly unwinding long transparent veils of luminous color from the other female figure who stood at its center, wrapped up like an erotic mummy.  Yes, there was Avon, standing over the truant with hand on hip, projecting an air of haughty disapproval.

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, Vila.  Fearless Leader is not exactly pleased with this escapade."

It was Blake's turn to wince.  He **loathed** it when Avon called him that.

"Diddn' 'zactly 'spect him ta be, did I?" Vila commented.

"I don't see how you could."  Avon agreed.

"Way I figger it...."  Vila looked up, round-eyed, at Blake's approach, his face bathed in red neon light.  "Fearless leader," he quavered in greeting.

"So it is," Avon smirked.

All of which made it easy for Blake to produce his most formidable glower.  He directed it at Vila first, then at the three empty glasses arranged on the table, each a foot high and coated inside with pale frothy scum.  Vila didn't like his empties removed, Blake remembered, he liked to keep count.  A waitress appeared and placed a fourth glass in front of the little thief, a duplicate presumably, filled to the brim with something pink and smoking.  She looked at Avon and Blake expectantly.  "We're not staying," Blake announced, and she discreetly departed.  Blake turned his attention back to Vila, who was struggling to straighten his backbone.  "And just how **do** you figure it, Vila?"

"I...."

"And keep your voice down!" he demanded vehemently.

Vila gulped and began again in a whisper, "Well...you're not likely to break all my fingers right before Star One, are you?  Might need 'em for tinkering."  He wiggled them reflectively, then shrugged.  "And after...well, after...we'll all be heroes or dead, right, and you won' care one way or the other that I had myself a final fling."

"Ah!"  Avon turned to Blake, beaming fatuous approval.  "What impeccable logic!"

"I've got a right to a final fling, you know," Vila relapsed into a whine.  "Star One could be a death sennance.  We may all end up a pile of corpus delecti.  You're supposed to grant a condemned man his lash wish.  They used to do that, y'know, in the good ol' days.  Civilizhed.  I'm not fighting for any reformed Federation that won' give a condemned man his lash wish.  A lash shot at life.  Don't you think I should have a lash shot, Avon ol' buddy?"

"I think you are too drunk to aim, much less shoot," Avon replied derisively.

"I like that," Vila sniggered happily.  "I'll remember that."  He grabbed his glass and swallowed a gulp of the vapourous liquid, then sloshed the rest in a toast to Avon.  "Aim's perfect," he announced.  He peered at his crotch and reached down to pat it protectively.  "There too."  He glanced over at the stage.  "Look at the pretty ladies, Blake.  Wouldn' you like a shot at one of them?  Blonde lady looks jus' like Jenna."

Blake surveyed the stage.  The ladies were indeed very pretty.  They were also, by now, very naked - half dancing, half writhing amidst the colorful tangle of the veils.  The blonde did look disconcertingly like Jenna, though rather more petulant.  The same long, stalking legs.  She had glorious breasts and her.... He realized he was staring, and pulled himself away, only to encounter Avon's arch appraisal of his reaction.

Thoroughly annoyed, Blake tugged on Vila's arm.  "Get **up** , Vila."

"Wassamadder, Blake?  Why can' I have some fun?  Think I won' come back?  Stayed with you this far, haven' I?  Maybe you can' **truss** me, but you can **truss** me, know whad I mean?"  The guileless eyes blurred and refocused.  "Avon knows whad I mean, dontcha, Avon?"

"Not when you speak incomprehensible gibberish," Avon snapped at him.

"Well," Vila explained to Blake, seriously, "we both got our stash in Freedom City - 5 mil' apiece, right? - an' we're both still here."

Cheeks slightly flushed, Avon met Blake's questioning gaze with studied innocence.  _Who me? seems rather inadequate to the situation, Avon,_ Blake thought.  _You can do better than that, surely._   The flush actually seemed to deepen under Blake's continued scrutiny.

"Beat the big wheel," Vila elucidated.  "Beat the big chair, too.  Poof!"  He giggled inanely, then turned his concentration back to Avon, who was now looking thoroughly disgusted.  "If'd been you, Avon, would you've stayed in the hot seat?"

"I wouldn't have been stupid enough to get myself in that position," Avon growled, dispensing with any pretense at innocence.

"Dunno why nod."  Vila mumbled, aggrieved.  "You're the one thinks death is the ultimate kick.  Can' get much stupider than that."

"I said gamblers...." Avon began with exasperated patience.

"You'ra gambler, aren't you, Avon?  Gamble big?"  He turned to Blake, waving his hand at the stage.  "I'd rather fuck than die.  Fuck first anyway.  Thass why I came down."  He lifted his glass and drank it to the bottom, then contemplated the pastel dregs.  "Too drunk now," he declared mournfully, then smiled.  "Drunk's bedder 'n dead, too.  Drunk on Pink Tongues.  Four Pink Tongues.  Sounds sexy, dunnit?"

"Can we end this idiocy?" Avon appealed to Blake, an edge of desperation in his voice

"The idiocy, or the idiot?" Blake questioned, having rather begun to enjoy himself.

"Blake...." Avon warned.

"An end to idiocy," Blake agreed reluctantly.

Vila squealed and squirmed while Avon ferreted inside his jacket for the hidden bracelet.  He found it finally, and clamped it round Vila's wrist.  That accomplished, Blake hauled the wobbly man to his feet.  Vila immediately threw his arms around him, puckered his lips.  "Give us a kiss, Fearless Leader."

"Vila..." he hissed, casting an embarrassed glance at Avon.  He felt an utter fool, Vila dangling from his neck like a tipsy albatross.  Knew his reaction gave him away.  He didn't know **why** he was so embarrassed, he could screw who he damned well chose.  But he was, his face heating as Avon's dark eyes surveyed him, amused and scornful.  _Bedding us all, are you?_ they asked.

Vila followed Blake's gaze.  "He is pretty...but he's too proud to let me fuck him.  Not like you."

Avon's lips took on a derogatory curl.

 _Damn_.

"Anyway," Vila added, "you said he bites."

There was not a shred of amusement left on Avon's face now.  The eyes were black and void, with a tiny consuming light burning within them.  The room sped away from Blake, Vila was an almost forgotten weight in his arms.  There was only himself and Avon and spinning darkness.

"He scares me when he looks like that," Vila said, a tiny voice in his ear.

 _Me too_ , Blake thought, heart hammering in his chest, _me too_.

"Make him stop," Vila pleaded, shivering against him.

" **You** were the one who was afraid he'd bite, Vila," Blake pronounced the words very carefully, never taking his eyes off Avon, "I did have to agree it was a distinct possibility."

A reluctant confession in itself.  But it had been such innocent babble, meaningless, no invasion of Avon's privacy.  No cheap post-coital confession of what they had shared...the beauty of it...the pain.  _No betrayal_ , he promised Avon that, begged him to hear it.  It was too important to me.

Avon relaxed infinitesimally, glancing away.  When he looked back it was no longer his own death Blake felt he faced, simply a brooding and suspicious man.  His own body still tense, Blake felt Vila sag against him, released from Avon's spell.

"Thass right," Vila declared, as if it was a revelation.  "You thoud it was funny.  Doesin' look so funny now, doesid?  Take it off in one bite, 'e would."  He teetered over an peered in the vicinity of Blake's groin.  "Well," he amended, "id'd take 'bout six to finish you off."

Inexplicably, Avon seemed to find this last hilarious.  The eyes were still black, but the flame in them was suddenly dancing, mocking himself and Blake.  Unexpectedly forgiven, relief and gratitude flooded Blake.  His knees felt weak.  He staggered slightly as Vila slumped in his arms.

"I want to go to sleep," Vila informed him, and went completely limp.

"The party seems to be over," Avon remarked.

"Let's get out of here."

Tightening his hold around the unconscious thief, Blake edged around the dance floor, past a stage with a male/female sexual act, and finally stumbled with Vila into the men's room, which was blessedly vacant.  No point in being unnecessarily conspicuous when vanishing into thin air.  The last thing he wanted was to alert the Federation of their current location, directly or indirectly.

"Liberator, teleport.... Wait."  Avon had not followed.  _Damn it_.  He lowered Vila onto the floor, then lifted up the dangling arm.  "Liberator," he repeated into Vila's communicator.

"Blake, Blake is there trouble?" Cally's voice.

"No.  Get a fix on this bracelet, and bring Vila up.  He's out cold. You'll need Jenna to move him."




"What about you and Avon?"

"Later."

"Teleporting now."

The human puddle that was Vila shimmered and vanished.

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Retracing his steps around the dance floor, Blake choose a central vantage point.  The two women on the stage had appeared to be approaching the grande finale.  Had Avon stayed to watch?  No, he wasn't there.  Nor was he at the platform closest the door, where two beautiful new men, ebony and ivory limbs wrapped around each other, were sucking each other's cocks.  Then he spotted Avon's distinctive profile and started to move toward him.  He was standing near the wall of the far back stage.  On it an older man, dark, hairy, and muscular, was penetrating a pale, fragile young one.  The sight evoked the image of a spider and a struggling butterfly, and made Blake faintly nauseous.  He's probably twenty...he reassured himself futilely...but he looks about thirteen.  Avon had to have passed the stage where those two striking men were performing, why was he watching this pseudo-perversity?

Except Avon wasn't watching the stage, Blake saw.  He was watching someone watching it.  The queasy dismay jolted to jealousy, and Blake wasn't sure which was worse.  Approaching cautiously, he tried to spot who it was Avon was so fixated on, but there was a crush of men at the bar, several extremely attractive - all observing the performance with indecent fascination..  Then a blond head turned, as if sensing surveillance, and met Avon's gaze.  Blake was shocked to see Avon stiffen and flatten himself against the wall.  Avon stayed frozen in place as the man moved from the crowd and circled the stage.  Blake felt his body prickle with outrage...with fear.  Avon looked absolutely hypnotized.  This was not some handsome stranger who'd caught his eye, but someone Avon knew, Blake was sure of it.  He began shouldering through the men in his way.  The fair haired man was standing in front of Avon now, hands splayed on either side of his head, pinning him to the wall.  Blake closed in beside them, but neither noticed him, focused totally on each other.  He choked back the impulse to drag the stranger away.

"Avon," Blake said, demanding his attention, but it was the blond man who turned to him first, meeting his challenge.  Blake was aware of an arresting, predatory face.  He thought of a fox, that sharp intensity.  It was fixed on himself now - searching for weakness, he realized, even as he was.  Looking closely, he saw the man was far older than his first impression, older and more dissipated.  _You're rotting from the inside out,_ he thought, hating him.  It was a victory when the brown eyes shifted slightly under his glare, but then the man turned back to Avon, smiling his cunning, fox's smile.  One hand cupped Avon's face, thumb tracing the outline of his lips.  "Is **he** as good as I am, Avon?" he asked.  "Is anybody?"

In a second the trapped animal looked vanished from Avon's face, and something utterly venomous took its place.  "I told you never to touch me again," Avon whispered, baring his teeth.

The man was pulling away, but he wasn't quick enough, Avon's knee came up, driving into his groin.  The stranger screamed and fell to the floor, cradling his crotch.  He screamed again as Avon's boot smashed into balls and clutching fingers, the high-pitched sound echoing in the frozen silence of shock that gripped the room.  Avon drew back his foot for another kick.

Blake grabbed Avon's arm and dragged him toward the back exit.  There was only a second's resistance, then Avon was running with him.  Luckily, the people in front of him were pulling out of the way, though his peripheral vision picked up followers.  They were out now, into an alley, then onto a street.  Blake signaled a passing flutter cab and shoved Avon into it.  "Drive," he ordered, and the cab sped away.

" **Bloody hell** ," Blake muttered under his breath.  He leaned forward to slam the sound shield shut, but it was jammed and he collapsed back onto the seat.  Gnawing a knuckle, he studied Avon, who had pulled into the far corner of the seat, still exuding a black cloud of menace.  Blake decided to wait before demanding explanations.

"Stop here," He ordered, when the driver had woven through several blocks.  Blake waited till the flutter turned and tugged Avon down one street, then up another.  He wanted to talk this through before they beamed back up to the Liberator.  Avon had been in one of his reclusive phases since Albion, and Blake didn't want him holing up in his room.  Avon incommunicado was the last thing he needed.

"Will he try to press charges, Avon?" he asked abruptly.  Edge City was neutral, but that didn't mean there was no danger - the unsettling possibility of someone hunting them.  Abstracted, Avon only frowned at him.  "Will he press assault charges?"

"No," Avon said.  Then he bared his teeth again, "I suppose the reward might intrigue him - the case against himself dropped and a fat bundle of money to indulge his taste for pretty toys."

Another of Avon's partners in crime?  "Edge City is in the running for most corrupt neutral space port.  If they were going to violate their neutrality, it would only be for their own benefit.  For the kind of money the Federation is offering, they'd turn him in as well and keep the whole bundle."  The man, whoever he was, would have to be aware of that.  Most likely, he'd crawl off and nurse his wounds in private.

"That would definitely be a deterrent," Avon said.  "That...and whatever remnants of finer feelings may be involved."  This last Avon relished as a private joke.

Blake decided to risk it - he probably only needed an hour alone with Avon to deal with this mess.  He went into the door of the next hotel they passed.  It was ridiculously, oppressively luxurious, and he almost turned around and walked out, but the plush environment seemed to blanket Avon's air of violence.  The aristocratic manner emerged automatically, though Blake could still sense the pulsing adrenalin beneath the polished surface.  The supercilious desk clerk could not apparently, but something in Avon's air of hauteur seemed to reassure him.  Exasperated and concerned, Blake paid over the requested five hundred credits without demur, managed a curt "No" to the discreetly posed question of luggage and headed for the lift.  Avon followed, still self-absorbed.

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Once in the room, awkwardness descended.  Blake couldn't find the words to frame his questions and no answers were forthcoming.  There was a small complimentary bar, and he emptied a miniature brandy bottle into a glass and sipped it, watching as Avon, in panther mode, began to pace the room restlessly.

"Avon, we have to talk," he said curtly.

"No, we don't," was the answer.  Whirling, Avon stalked into the bath and slammed the door.

 _Now that's a singularly cowardly maneuver,_ Blake thought.  A couple of minutes later, he heard the sound of the shower.  Cold, he hoped.  Anything to cool Avon's incendiary temper.  Violence often excited Avon, Blake knew - luckily, the response was more than balanced by his natural caution.

Activating his communicator, he called the Liberator.  "Cally, there was a bit of a fracas here.  I don't think it will amount to anything, but have Orac tap into the police computer system and look for any assault complaints mentioning Avon's name - or either of our descriptions.  Also have him check all out-going communication between Edge City and the Federation."

"Quite a fracas.  Is Avon all right?"

"Fine," he lied.  "It all sounds more important than it is.  We should be ready to teleport after a while."

"There's a problem here as well, Blake."

"What?"

"The microtubing was too large in diameter.  The ones in the box did not match the gauge marked on the outside.  Jenna went down to exchange them, but everything was closed up."

If it's not one thing, it's twenty.  "That's easy enough, Vila can break into..." he stopped.

"Vila will be doing nothing but snoring for at least twelve hours."

"Damn."  It's such a simple repair.  "Can't you give him a dose of...."

"Blake."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Jenna, as well as Vila, would be the better for a long sleep.  Her reaction time is down.  I've already sent her to her cabin."

 _Pushing too hard, am I Cally?_   She so seldom criticized - still he was tempted to override her objections.  He was filled with the most compelling sense of urgency about Star One, expectation and foreboding eating at his nerve ends.  He became aware that the shower had stopped - there was still Avon to deal with.

"All right, in the morning, then."  He could hear how grudging it sounded.

"Yes, Blake.  Thank you."

Avon emerged fully dressed, looking rakish as a pirate with the leather jacket open, his hair damp and curling on his forehead.  If anything the perilous air of violence was stronger than when he went in.  Blake felt sparks ready to fly at the least abrasion.  What the hell was wrong with the man?  Avon prided himself on his control, could regain it in a split second.  Blake felt he simply didn't care.  He saw Avon was heading for the door and was there, behind him, reaching across Avon's shoulder to hold it shut.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Avon turned to face him.  "I'm going to get myself laid, Blake."

"What...!"

"Condemned man, last chance, and all that.  A final shot - and my aim is considerably better than Vila's."  Avon smiled, one of his more unpleasant smiles, and his eyes were wild and glittering.

That vicious encounter in the bar had triggered this.  It was sick.  **Sick**.  Blake wanted to tell him so, but Avon had to know that.  He wanted to shake the stupid sonofabitch till his teeth rattled.  Blake slammed his fist against the door beside Avon's face, but the dark eyes barely blinked.

"You wouldn't be thinking of trying to stop me, would you?" Avon challenged.

With sudden intuition, Blake knew that was exactly what Avon wanted, acknowledged or not.  Knew also if he didn't accept the challenge Avon would leave, would go find someone else, for spite if nothing else.  Should he let him go?  Their own relationship was so precarious.  A stranger Avon could walk away from, dismiss.  Use, be used, forget it.  But Blake could not bear Avon putting himself at risk - savvy and fierce as Avon was, his current state was dangerously self-destructive.  In this mood he was likely to end up in a holding cell, or with his throat slashed in an alley somewhere.  That or....  The stark, explicit vision of another man's hands caressing Avon made him tremble with jealousy.  "If you're fucking anyone tonight, it's me," he heard himself saying.

"You I've had," Avon drawled, the tone, the expression, indicating the experience was not worth repeating.

"Not precisely," Blake said.

Avon arched his eyebrows at him disdainfully, but a flame in the dark eyes flickered at the offer.  "Well now, how generous of you.  Or how desperate.  But...perhaps...that is not what I'm looking for tonight."

Rage enveloped Blake, Avon's perversity was sicker than he had imagined.  "You want cock up the ass tonight, Avon?" he said, bluntly.  "You'll have a long hunt to find one bigger than mine."

Avon laughed, hard and short.  "True.  It's big...but it's a bit of a cold fish when it comes down to it, isn't it Blake?"

"Is it, Avon?"  He was already hard - did not remember when it had happened.  Pressing himself against Avon, Blake let the anger, the sexual heat streak through him, a flash fire of need.  He wanted to scorch Avon with it.  Raze him to the ground....

He had to fight to quell it.  How did Avon manage to do this to him, fill him with lust and fury?  Blake shook his head, trying to subdue the rage.  He had hoped for another chance to be with Avon, but not like this.  Everything that had made it go wrong last time was doubling itself, out of control.  Anger, the urge to dominate.  Only, this time, Avon was saying he wanted it, wanted from Blake the dominance that had infuriated him before.  But even if Avon did want it now, to purge some twisted need from his system, he'd no doubt kick Blake in the balls for it tomorrow, one way or another.  Blake did not want Avon to hate him.

He took a deep breath, letting go of some of the anger.  His hands, arms spread on either side of Avon's head quivered now, slightly, with the release.  He raised his head, met Avon's eyes.  No quarter.  It did not matter.  It would be easy enough to find the anger again, if he needed it to hold the other man.  Blake would do whatever he had to in order to keep Avon from leaving.  He realized he had Avon pinned to the wall, arms on either side of his head, as the man in the bar had.  But the posture did not matter, the other man did not matter now, only what was said, what happened between Avon and himself.

"Don't think I haven't wanted you.  I have.  I've been afraid to try again, Avon.  I didn't want you to leave the ship.  I've been afraid...." he repeated, because that covered a half dozen motivations for keeping his hands off Avon.  "I didn't want to risk what we had."

"Risk nothing, gain nothing," Avon sneered.  "Nothing was all there was between us.  Nothing was all you had."

"That's not true."  His voice was adamant.

"Don't fret Blake, I'll stay with you till Star One.  It would be rather disastrous for you to lose me now.  Who knows how the computer banks will be set up."

"Of course - do you think I'm going to deny that's part of it!"  Blake shut his eyes, breathing deeply again, struggling for control. _It's a goad, just another goad._  "It went wrong the last time, Avon.  When we made love...."

"How very...euphemistically...put."

He ignored that as well.  If anything it was true, it was he who had failed Avon.

"If there was ever another chance, Avon, I meant for it to happen without anger.  I meant to offer you...whatever you wanted.  Whatever you want."

"And just what do **you** want, Blake?"  The insinuating tone was specific, sexual, and Avon's body relaxed back, lounging insolently against the door.  Blake realized Avon was going to stay with him and he felt a dizzy rush of relief, a renewed rush of longing wash through him.

"Everything," he said intensely, meaning it, and Avon looked away, lips tightening.  "Everything...anything." he repeated softly, in a tone that no longer asked for Avon's heart, his brain, his soul along with his body.  He began the litany, the sexual specifics Avon had asked for, "I want you to fuck me, Avon.  I want to feel myself inside you again.  I want to suck your cock."

Avon eyed him askance, another dark flame flickering in his eyes, a flare of desire.  Blake sank to his knees in front of him, rubbed his cheek against the musky leather, against the hard swelling in Avon's crotch.  He had not used his mouth on Avon the first time, had hungered for it since.  "Let me do that, Avon, let me suck your cock."

Looking down on him, Avon's face was cold, but his eyes smoldered, his body was alive with tension.  Avon braced his legs as Blake opened the fly, released the dark red cock, already rigid and straining in his hand.  "You're so beautiful," he murmured, stroking the arched line of the shaft, the flaunting curve of the glans.

Blake began to lap at it, slowly, over and over, waiting until Avon made a small sound, thrust forward, to open his mouth and take the cock whole.  It fit his mouth, smooth and full, as it had in his fantasies.  The scent, the flavor of it filled his senses.  He gave himself up to the pure erotic joy of touching Avon intimately again.  Offering all his skill, all his hunger.  Sucking...sucking...wanting to drink Avon down to the last bitter drop.  There were fingers twined in his hair, tugging him away.  Dazed with desire, Blake went reluctantly, but then he remembered that was part of the fantasy too - he sucked it hard, then Avon put it inside him.  Fucked him.

 _Yes_.

"Drop your pants, Blake."

Without a murmur, he undid his belt, his fly, pushed trousers and underwear down around his hips.  Moved to slide them lower.

"No, just like that," Avon said.  "Now turn over."

He did as Avon bade him, kneeling on all fours, face buried in his arms, offering his ass to Avon.

"Spread your cheeks."

He bit his lip, quelling the impulsive desire to laugh.  Shifting his weight, he lifted his hands to his buttocks, parted himself.  He felt ridiculous and embarrassed, yes, and oddly happy.  Foolishly happy, considering the coldness in Avon's voice.  But that had been part of the fantasy too, the expiation.  Avon would take what revenge he needed, and then they would start over.  At the moment, his genitals throbbing, he thought the revenge would be sweet, even for him.

"Don't move."

He stayed as he was, excruciatingly aware of his naked buttocks, his exposed anus, humiliated and aroused, as he knew Avon intended him to be.  He heard footsteps go to the bathroom, then return.  He shivered as he felt fingertips touch him, smearing a cool, clinging wetness against the puckered opening.  He tightened a little and then relaxed to accept the entrance of first one finger, then two into his body.  They pushed deep inside him, not rough, but not gentle either.  Perfunctory, they circled inside him briefly, coating the channel with creamy slickness, then withdrew.

 _Now,_ he thought.  _Now...._

Avon knelt behind him, balancing himself with one hand on Blake's back.  Blake held his breath as he felt the slippery nudge of the cock head against him, felt the first pang of entry...a sharp sensation for something so blunt, so smooth.  Avon waited until he was accustomed to the head, then began to push into his body, inch by inch.  He had expected more pain, but the entry was cautious rather than brutal - as if brutality would be too much a confession, edge too close to passion.  In his fantasies, however cruel Avon had been, he had been filled with passion.  If Avon had elected to hurt him, he would have accepted that more easily than this clinical penetration.  There was a final quick trust and Avon paused, buried in him, unmoving except for the hands that casually stroked his flanks.  Blake waited.  His euphoria was fading, edged now with sadness, anxiety.  The physical details - the hot, throbbing thickness inside him, the soft bristle of pubic hair against his ass, the sleek press of leather against his thighs - were emblazoned on his senses, yet the other man seemed light years distant and Blake had no idea how to reach him.

Then Avon began to move, short, rapid strokes that were stimulating, but deliberately off rhythm, refusing a sense of connection.  Blake thrust back, trying to match him, or find an exciting counterpoint, but both efforts were thwarted.  Abandoning the futile effort, he remained totally passive, letting Avon fuck him as he wanted.  At first, he thought Avon was doing everything possible, short of inflicting pain, to give himself pleasure while denying Blake's own.  Then, when he submitted passively, Avon changed tactics and concentrated on arousing him.  The leather clad hips ground slowly against him...the cock moving in a sensuous internal rhythm...cool hands sliding around his body to fondle his cock and balls.  The fingers toyed with him, teased him, the sly, knowing touch too light for his need.  A delicate torture that set his teeth on edge.

"Harder...."  A harsh whisper he hardly dared to voice.

The hands closed around him, strong and sure, cupping the sac, stroking the length of his straining cock, squeezing tightly over the sensitive head.  Blake moaned, writhing beneath their deft manipulation, pressing his ass back against Avon, struggling for deeper impalement.  But now that he was stirred, Avon withdrew the caresses, switched the rhythm of his thrusts again, concentrating on his own satisfaction, ignoring Blake.  One more demonstration of Avon's cold-blooded expertise.  Using his body as a weapon, using Blake's body as a weapon against him.  Blake gave a sob of frustration, bit his lip to silence it.  He felt his muscles begin to vibrate with stress.

_If you want to drive me crazy, Avon, you're succeeding...._

The thrusts were suddenly longer, deep and hard.  A thrill raced up Blake's spine.  _Yes...so good...so good...._   Then Avon's hands tightened their grip, and he came without a sound, jerking Blake's hips against him, cock jerking inside him.  He leaned against Blake for a second, his breathing barely elevated, then pulled out and lay back on the floor.  Blake rose to his knees, faced him.  His cock was aching, the unshared climax a further frustration, a further arousal.  He thought Avon looked anything but sated, despite the orgasm, his exposed sex still half hard and flushed with blood.  The sprawled posture was inviting, but his face was hard and mocking.  Contemptuous.

Blake stood up and stripped off his boots, his clothes, until he stood naked over Avon.  He wanted flesh against flesh.  "Take off your clothes."  His voice hoarse, it was half plea, half demand.  Avon only smiled faintly and shook his head in negation.  The tube of lubricant Avon had used rested on a table by the door.  Blake picked it up, pressed out a palm full, covered himself.  The cream melted over him, his rigid cock burning through each stroke of his hand.  He wanted to put that searing hardness inside Avon.  Incinerate the cold, carnal contempt with the heat of his desire.  He tossed the tube aside, reached for him.

"No," Avon said.  "I don't think I want you to touch me."

 _You bloody bastard_ , Blake thought.  If he'd ever heard an invitation to rape that was it.  Avon was daring him to do it, daring him not to.  _The hell with you, that's one game I'm not playing_.  He stood over Avon, cock in hand.  _If you don't want it in the face, you can damn well move,_ he thought - but he wanted, desperately to touch Avon, if only with his spouting seed.  Blake closed his eyes against the vision, the need.  Fingers milking fast and hard, he concentrated on bringing himself off quickly.  Ending this absurdity.

He gasped as he felt Avon's mouth on his leg, the hot, wet tongue licking his calf, tracing a path up the inner thigh, barely brushing his balls.  Moaning with pleasure, Blake reached for the dark head, but Avon pulled away from him again.  He opened his eyes to see Avon just out of reach, laughing silently.  All the restrained anger rushed through him, a cold fire singing along his nerves.  Blake's cock pulsed in his hand.

_All right, Avon.  I did promise you whatever you wanted, didn't I?_

Lunging forward, Blake grabbed hold of Avon's jacket and hauled him to his feet.  "If you wanted them ripped off you, Avon, you shouldn't have worn leather."

Then again, it wouldn't be so difficult.  The jacket, the pants were already half open.  Inside the leather, the shirt was fine black silk.  That tore easily enough, baring the chest.  Eyes blazing, Avon started to grapple with him, so Blake yanked the jacket down over Avon's shoulders, the tight sleeves trapping his arms.  Taking hold of the dark hair, he jerked Avon's head back, bent his mouth down to the exposed throat, closed his teeth on the naked skin.  He moved his mouth down, biting neck, shoulders, chest, nipples.  Bit harder there, tasting the salty, metallic tang of blood against his tongue.  Heard Avon gasp - felt the struggling body arch up against him.

_Bastard...bastard...is this what you want?_

Blake dragged Avon to the bed, threw him on it face down.  The jacket still confined Avon's arms, but he wrestled as best he could as Blake tugged the leather pants down over his hips.  The squirming movement was an excitment in itself as Blake ran his hand over the exposed buttocks.  The skin was alabaster pale against the black leather, satin smooth to his touch, faintly moist in the crevice.  His finger probed for the orifice, found it, thrust inside.  He felt Avon flinch and pulled out again.

"Don't move," Blake growled, clambering off the bed.  Avon obviously had no intention of obeying the command, but it gave him great satisfaction to voice it.  He grabbed the tube of cream from the floor, and was back before Avon had untangled himself.

Straddling Avon, Blake gripped the the torso hard with his thighs, took hold of the buttocks, squeezing the cream along the crack.  He spread the white cheeks open, revealing the rose red furrow, the dark, scrolled edging of hair, the close-drawn bud.  He worked the cream over that tight center, let it ease his way into the tiny mouth of muscle.  Past that first resistance, he took his time, probing deeply with one finger...then two.  He withdrew to gather more cream, formed three fingers into a pyramid, pushed them into Avon, thick as a cock inside him.  He slid his other hand under belly, caressing the swollen genitals until Avon groaned and writhed to the slow, relentless rhythm, balls drawn tight to the shaft, ass pressing back against the pillaging fingers.

Heart pounding, Blake pulled the fingers out and turned Avon over.  He wanted him naked...body and face exposed while he fucked him.  He set himself to getting the boots off him.  Avon fought against him again, but only enough to make sure Blake worked for what he wanted, enough to keep both their systems flooded with adrenalin.  He dragged the leather pants off next, flung them aside.  Spread Avon's thighs open with his own.  The jacket was last, and Avon's arms were free, shoving against him.  But Blake was already between Avon's legs, lifting them, forcing them back.  He found the place there, slippery with cream, pushed in.  Carefully.  It was conditioned into him.  He was always careful.  Had to be careful.  So few of his partners could take all of him.  Avon cried out, fingers closing tight on his biceps - not pushing away, pulling him closer.  His hips raising up, trying to climb Blake's cock.

"Do it," Avon snarled at him.  " **Do it!** "

With terror, with wild joy, Blake let go of all control.  He held onto Avon's ass and slammed into him...over and over and over...losing himself totally in the insane pleasure of it.  He felt possessed, as if some dark demon of Avon's soul had leapt into him.  Beneath him, Avon twisted like a crazed thing, cursing, clawing at him, wanting more.  Wanting all of him.  He rose up, off his knees, onto his toes, pulling Avon's hips closer, finding the deepest angle.  Drove into him.  Avon screamed, a scream of outrage and utter pleasure, his body arching against him.  Coming...and coming...and coming...and coming.  Blake froze, buried inside Avon, staring in disbelief at the straining figure.  Then the spasms coursing along his cock triggered him and he screamed too, throwing back his head, his seed pouring out of him in a white hot bolt....

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He was leaning over Avon, pressing against his legs, panting, dripping sweat on him.  Slowly, Blake lowered the cramped legs from his shoulders, bringing them down to rest on his thighs.  He was still half hard inside Avon, and the limp figure moaned as Blake moved him, a small sound, unidentifiable as pleasure or pain.  He did not resist, letting Blake arrange his body as he willed.  Blake studied the vanquished face beneath him.  Now that his violence was burned away, all the past weeks of unexpressed longing welled up in him, overflowed.  Incredible as that orgasm had been, he found it was not finished for him yet.  He did not know if he could arouse Avon again, it was not important, this poignant yearning was enough in itself.  If Avon fell asleep under his caresses, even that would be sweet.  Blake reached out, touched him, smoothing a hand across his chest.  Brushing his nipples.

Hypersensitive, Avon whimpered and swatted at his hand, a feeble gesture.  His voice was weak too, though he tried for ferocity.  "Get out of me, Blake."

"You got what you needed, Avon," he said quietly, hand pressed to the center of Avon's chest, over the thudding heart.  "This is what I need."

He waited a moment, shifting his caress to Avon's face, stroking the sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, waiting till Avon's body could endure his touch.  Then he began again, taking his time.  He knew this might be their last time together, as easily as a new beginning, but neither the fear nor the hope mattered now.  He was content in the moment, gave himself up to it, let himself float along in a timeless realm of touch, feeling the sweet sculpture of Avon's body under his hands.  For long minutes, Avon lay unmoving beneath him, indifferent at first, then still and attentive, as if his body was listening to each sensation aroused in him by the gentle progression of gestures.  His eyes were closed, the lips parted, his breathing faintly quicker as Blake's hands traveled across him.

Blake concentrated on details now, savoring each nuance.  Avon's skin was fine grained, silk smooth...a woman's skin stretched over hard male contours.  The dark hair scattered across the chest was a springy contrast, a riffling texture under his palms.  His fingertips followed the little trickle of it that ran down to navel, dipping into the tiny cup.  Down further, but only to the edge of the triangle, the wilder, coarser growth of the groin that framed the lolling cock.  He did not touch there yet, but trailed his fingers upward to seek the contrast of the raised bud of a nipple.

This time the caress brought a quick indrawn breath, a restless stirring beneath him.  "Stop it, Blake."

He ignored that.  Still embedded inside Avon, Blake leaned over him, began softly nuzzling, licking every bit of his body he could reach.  He took a long time with that too.  Each luscious new mouthful was so wonderful in itself, the flesh taut or yielding, its sweet blandness glazed with the tart salt of sweat.  Avon was responding now too - responding to the delicate brush of his lips, the wide, flat stroke of his tongue, to its probing point - quivering with each new variation.  Blake nibbled gently, gently, at the most sensitive points, tiny sucking bites without a hint of threat.  He felt Avon begin to tremble.  Felt the lax cock stir.

"No," Avon insisted.

Blake smiled at him.  Was he supposed to believe a "no" from Avon now?  Believe it with Avon's incipient erection nudging him.  Shifting his weight, he reached between them, stroking Avon's cock, rubbing it slowly, sensuously against his belly.  Felt it stretch out beneath his caressing fingers.

"Please, Blake," Avon whispered, shivering at his touch.  "I don't want this."

Avon stared up at him.  His eyes were huge, overbright.   He looked to Blake like a child, lost, desperate and vulnerable.  Open to him at last.  The sight evoked a sweet, terrible hunger in him.   He wanted to cradle Avon...wanted to devour him.  He did not understand these cravings. No one else had ever filled him with such violence, with the melting, aching tenderness that he usually felt only for crippled and helpless things.




_Ah, Avon, you're a tragedy unto yourself.  You fill me full of pity and terror.  And desire..._ his mind whispered... _and desire._

"Yes, you do, Avon," he answered.  "You want **this**."  He stroked Avon's cock.  Again...again...felt it throb and grow in his hand.  He clasped it to him, squeezed it gently, embracing all of Avon in that one blind, seeking part.

"No," Avon moaned, tremors coursing through his body.

"You want **this** ," Blake repeated and, fully hard now, pressed the length of his sex into Avon, the channel closing around him, slick and smooth from cream and spilled come.  Gathering Avon's legs into his arms, he started to move again, gazing down into the pleading eyes.  "You want this as much as I do."

"Stop!" Avon gasped, clinging to him.

He let his own longing answer, tender, merciless.  It was exquisite, taking possession of Avon at last, holding him helpless with pleasure.  Joy filled him.  He was conqueror and supplicant...plundering every feeling, every emotion from Avon...offering him everything he felt.  Blake thrust deeper, long, slow strokes that reached for the center, the buried heart of him.

"No!" Avon cried out, terrified, shaking like a leaf now.  "No, Blake, **please**!  Don't!"

"Yes."  Blake understood.  He felt it too, the sensation sweeping through him like a river of light, gathering him, lifting him up.  Penetrating him as he penetrated Avon.  It was powerful...so powerful.  But there was no need to be afraid.  This was how it was supposed to be.  Whispering Avon's name, Blake pulled him close, as close as he could get, and opened himself to the flowing, pulsing light, felt it pour through him into Avon, beautiful and bright.  Drowning in the glory of it, he heard Avon's voice calling his name, over and over and over.  Felt the sweet spasm of Avon's cock, the jetting warmth of his come splashing against his belly.  Heard Avon's cry of completion, high and sharp....

Pain.  Not pleasure.  Pain.

Avon cried out again, twisting frantically on his cock, arching away from his body even as his hands clutched Blake, fingers digging into his arms.  Frightened, shocked to awareness, Blake gathered the shuddering body in his arms.  It could not be the depth, the force of his penetration - he had been rougher with Avon before without harm.  It must the orgasm itself that was hurting him...a pain as much emotional as physical.  Murmuring nonsense, he held him tightly, rocked him, waiting until the sharp cries, the sobbing gasps quieted, and Avon lay limp and quaking in his arms.

It had been so beautiful for him.  It would have been for Avon too, he thought, if he were not afraid of what he felt.

"Does loving hurt so much then?" He asked, stroking Avon's cheek.  There was the silvery shine of tear tracks, a faint dampness against his fingers.

"Yes." Avon answered, defeated.

"More than feeling nothing?"

Blake expected a weary "No", but Avon hissed "Yes" to that too, and turned his face away.

"That much," he said, and it was not another question, but the acknowledgement of a terrible answer.

"Loving?"  Avon whispered then, bitterly, turning back to him.  "Loving?  I **hate** you, Blake."

"I know," Blake soothed, knowing it was not what Avon meant at all.

Avon shivered and moaned as Blake withdrew from his body.  "I'll never forgive you for this, Blake."

"Of course you won't," he sighed.  Worn out, Blake reached up to the control panel in the headboard and switched out all the lights, drew the sheet over them.  He rolled onto his side and carefully pulled the spent body into his arms.  Exhausted as he was, still Avon stiffened and tried to withdraw.  "Let me hold you," Blake whispered, folding him closer.  "Please, Avon.  I **need** to hold you."

There was no more resistance, but the body he held remained tense.  Avon whispered again, fiercely, "I **hate** you."

Infinitely gentle, Blake leaned forward and kissed him.  Avon did not respond, though his lips, moist and pliable, seemed to cling to his own as they parted. "Yes, Avon," he said softly, "I hate you too."

Blake lay that way for a while, arms wrapped about Avon, melancholy wrapped about them both like a blanket, oppressive and comforting.  He hovered a while on the edge of sleep then, as he drifted down, there was a sigh, a trembling, and Avon settled against him.  After a moment, an arm encircled him, embracing him in darkness.

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"Wake up, Blake."

The curtains swept open and sunlight flooded over him, warm but too bright.  Blake pulled himself up, groggy and blinking.  There was a wonderful aroma....

"I've ordered breakfast.  You may as well eat it while it's hot.  You've slept for ten hours."

Memory came now, looking at Avon, dark against the brightness of the windows.  He was entirely dressed.  Barricaded in leather again, zipped up to the neck.  The clothes, the tone of voice, the pose, all guarded.

No trespassing.  Do not touch.

"Good morning, Avon," Blake said.  He threw off the covers and got out of bed.  Stood naked in front of Avon, who met his eyes with a cold, level gaze.  The first sharp stirrings of anger gave way to depression.  Blake turned and walked across the room to the bath.  He could do with a piss, a shower, before having to deal with Avon.

The water was deliciously hot, pouring over his back.  Blake soaped his body...scrubbed his sticky belly.  He shampooed his hair, massaging his scalp vigorously.  That might keep his headache at bay....

The first time, before Horizon, he had not given enough.  Now, he did not know what else he could offer Avon, of passion, of tenderness.  He had never lost himself so completely with anyone.  Been so moved by anyone.  And Avon was moved by him as well...there would not have been such fear, such fierceness, if anyone could touch that inner core.  The last...the pain Avon had felt...was emotional, some wound or wounds brought to the surface.  He could heal that...

No.  He couldn't.  Because Avon would not let him near.

The anger began again, a slow seething.  His struggle against the Federation was so difficult, so consuming, why should he follow this craving for a man so at odds with him and with it?  Did he want a lover who could drive him to act out a sexuality alien to his own, one he distrusted and disliked, however powerfully it affected him?  Drive him to the brink of rape?  He suspected Avon's sex drive was far more intense than his own - would he expect these insane confrontations nightly?

There was a rush of warmth in his loins.  His cock twitched and began to rise.  _You only think it's a good idea,_ he informed it, _just wait till you're raw and limp as a worm, and all he wants is more._   Blake turned on the cold water, gasping and shuddering at its onslaught.  At least he was fully awake now.

His stomach rumbled at him, and he remembered the breakfast Avon had ordered.  Remembered also that Avon couldn't bear food in the morning, drinking endless cups of coffee until his appetite roused, while Blake always woke ravenous.  The breakfast was for him.  Typical Avon - denial and offering on one plate.

Two plush white guest robes with the hotel monogram hung in the dressing room by the bath.  He deliberately put on only the robe.  _Simpler than hunting up my clothes_.  He knew, despite his misgivings, he did not want to deny the intimacy he had shared with Avon last night.

He had a vision then, of Avon lying beside him in the sun washed bed.  Strangely, it was not arousing, only unbearably sweet, unbearably possible.  The warm sunlight, the warm, smooth nakedness of skin rubbing beneath the crumpled, silky softness of sheets.  Talking, laughing a little, feeding each other tidbits.  No...Avon would not want tidbits.  But he would take them from Avon, lick his fingers, his lips, taste the bitter coffee flavor on his tongue.  Kisses, his mouth would be full of Avon's wonderful kisses.  Then he would pull Avon close, whisper in his ear, tell him he loved him, more than he had ever....

 _Wake up, Blake._   Avon's chilly voice echoed in his mind.

No, that was not what was happening was it?  The bed was quite empty.  And there had been no kisses last night...except the one, his own.

At the sink, Blake splashed cold water on his face.  He tightened the tie of the robe and went out to join Avon at the table.  Sitting down, he helped himself to tea, toast and jam, sausage, eggs.  He ate in silence, started to feel more grounded as his belly filled.  Across from him Avon sipped at his coffee and shredded a flaky roll with his fingers, a token gesture to joining the meal.

Blake pushed the empty plate aside.  The silence continued, a leaden pall.  Yesterday's events were beginning to replay themselves in his mind.  The bar.  Avon's vicious attack on the blond man.  He had to ask.  Why was he so apprehensive, not of Avon's refusal, but of his answer?  He had thought there was no one of significance except the mysterious Anna Grant, who inspired, thankfully, curiosity rather than jealousy.  Anna - Avon's love, Avon's icon.  So who was the vulpine stranger?  There had been such utter hatred on Avon's face last night.  Could Avon have hated the man so much if he had not loved him as well?  He had been mesmerized before he retaliated.

Finally, it was Avon who initiated.  Rising, he walked to the window, then turned to Blake.  His tone was reluctant, acknowledging an unwanted obligation.  "Thank you...for stopping me leaving last night.  I was not in the most stable frame of mind."

He got out of his own chair, crossed to Avon, trying to judge a distance that would encourage confidence.  Close, but not close enough to threaten.  Being sure to leave Avon room to maneuver, Blake said,  "I thought perhaps you wanted me to."

Avon looked faintly startled, but his voice was even as he answered, "An interesting interpretation."

After that, Avon did not move, did not speak.  Blake waited.  Nothing more was offered.  Finally, the tension stretched too tight between them, he forced himself to ask,  "Who was he, Avon?"

There was a long pause, then Avon said.  "His name is Rav.  He is my brother."

"Your brother?  But I thought...."  He paused.  No, he had not mistaken the exchange between them, it was intensely sexual.  As Avon's attack had been explicitly sexual.

"Oh, you thought correctly." Avon sneered.

Ugly suspicion filled his mind, suspicion it was impossible to deny.  Two adolescent boys he could understand...but Blake remembered the pornographic show the man had been watching, with the young boy.  Saw the sharp featured, predatory face once again in his mind's eye.

"He looked ten years older than you, Avon."

"Twelve."

"When did it start?"

"When I was six."

He stared at Avon, appalled.  Suddenly, vividly, he remembered Avon's face beneath him in bed, how child-like he had looked, how vulnerable.  How terribly erotic the sight had been.  How he had plundered that vulnerability.  He turned his back on Avon, nausea warring with self-loathing, with a sweeping, uncontrollable anger.  Anger not only at himself and Avon's despicable brother, but at Avon, as if last night he had made true all the Federation's obscene lies.  Trembling, Blake took his throbbing head between his hands, fingers pressing against the skull.

"Don't work yourself up into a frenzy of moral indignation, Blake," Avon's voice was cold and cynical.  "I don't need your pity.  It's hardly necessary under the circumstances.  I did, after all, enjoy it."

Blake swung around and back-handed him with all his strength.  He did not know he had done it until Avon hit the wall.  Horrified, he watched the dark figure slide to the floor, hand pressed to his bleeding mouth, staring at Blake in disbelief and stunned anger.

"I'm sorry," Blake whispered.  Blake raised his hands up, shoulder high, open, as he approached the wary man.  He knelt beside him.  He touched the bleeding lip gently, but Avon knocked his hand away.  "I **am** sorry."

"Very well.  You're sorry."  Avon said.  "I'm used to your irrational responses.  Or was there a reason for that?"

"Not a good one."

"There never is."

Blake studied the hostile face before him.  The pity Avon did not want filled him.  However tormented Avon was, he was a man, not a child, more a man than most others.  It was the man he loved - and to love what was vulnerable in Avon, as well as what was strong, did not make him a pervert.

"Don't do this to yourself, Avon," he said quietly.  "You were a child...even if he seduced you instead of assaulting you, it's still rape."

"Oh, he did better than that," Avon murmured under his breath.  "He made sure I seduced him."

He ached to comfort Avon, who had apparently spent his childhood trying to win the love of a monster, but yet another ugly thought gripped him.  "Did you believe the Federation charges against me, Avon?"

"Not for an instant, I would never have stayed...." Avon began, reassuring - then his eyes narrowed in understanding.  "I do realize I provoked you last night, Blake, and I may have my sexual peculiarities - but you overestimate my masochistic tendencies.  I'm not using you to relive my rather disgusting childhood."

"Then what was last night about, Avon?" Blake asked simply.

The glare of outrage in Avon's face faded to a look of uncertainty, then fear, and he stared down at his hands.  "I never believed the charges against you.  Never," he repeated, adamantly - the one certainty in this unforseen quagmire.  "Rav was not...I can't think of two people less alike."

If his intuition was right, last night Avon had wanted, had trusted Blake to stop him, protect him from himself.  But Avon had given him two roles to play, both protector and ravisher.  "I **do** remind you of him, Avon.  Why?"  It made him sick to ask.  He wondered if Avon even knew.  "Why?" he insisted.

"You're both manipulators."

That came too easily, Blake thought.  And, after last night's extravaganza, Avon had a fine nerve accusing anyone of manipulation.  But he knew it was a major issue between them.  He sighed.  "Avon, half the time I don't know what you're talking about when you accuse me of that."

"And the other half...."

Blake shrugged and smiled weakly.  "You're calling me on it.  It can't be all that effective a tactic."

"Oh, but it is - when you don't plan it.  You really should stick to operating on the instinctive level, Blake.  When you do you're an absolute master at jerking us around by our noses."

"That's ridiculous, Avon."  Abruptly, Blake stood up.  He had wanted to know, but he did not like what he was hearing.  Why could he never keep his temper with the man?  Why did he have to lose it now, when what he wanted was to ease his pain?  But Avon was already up and after him, scenting blood.

"Oh, Rav always knew exactly what he was doing - but I can't decide whether his calculation or your convenient ignorance infuriates me more.  Do you really think," Avon said savagely, his face inches from Blake, "after that fiasco on Earth, that you could have retained your authority in any way other than that infantile disappearing act you pulled, clouding the issues with bathos?  A rational discussion would have ousted you.  That brooding sulk kept you in power."

Blake bristled at the unfairness of it, he had been absolutely sincere in his motives.  "Perhaps I'm beginning to adopt your methods, Avon.  The brooding sulk is your forte, after all.  Irritating as it can be, I've always thought that was a nicely calculated way to gain our concern for your emotions, while being able to go on denying you had any."

Avon hissed and jerked his hands away.  They stared at each other in silence.  Blake realized a brooding sulk was exactly what they both wanted to withdraw into at the moment - and couldn't allow themselves now.  He watched as Avon began to pace.

"Avon," he offered.  "I've always wanted a partnership with you."

"Partnership!  What a joke.  If that were true, you'd **listen** to me occasionally.  Your **partnership** presupposes my complete capitulation.  What you really want is for me to lay myself out on the altar of your precious Cause.  A bloody human sacrifice."

"I want you to commit yourself to something worthy of your skills, your spirit, your life.  Do you really think the alternative is a worthy ambition - Kerr Avon perched atop a vast pile of credits, locked up in some impenetrable physical and mental fortress?  Do you really think you'll be happy?"

"Happier than I'd be as your slave."  Avon was closing in again, black eyes burning into his own.  "Because that's what you want, Blake, to **own** me - body and soul."

Hot and cold shivers raced through Blake.  He felt his hands tighten into fists.  His vision blurred and refocused on the taunting visage in front of him.  He wanted to hit Avon again.  Wanted, more than that, to be able to laugh at him, as he would laugh in the face of anyone else in the galaxy who would accuse him of such a thing.

When he did not answer, Avon smiled, his face lit with  vicious triumph.  "You wanted to know why you reminded me of my brother, Blake.  Well, now you do."

There was a faint chitter from the communicator on Avon's wrist, then Jenna's voice spoke into the room.  "Blake.  Blake?  Avon?"  Avon ignored it.  Blake crossed the room and fumbled among his clothes.  Clasped the communicator on his wrist.

"Yes, Jenna?"

"We're ready to go, Blake.  I've got the new microtubing installed.  Avon may want to run a systems check, but Zen seems content.  Vila, on the other hand, has a great deal to say about being knocked out and dumped back aboard, whilst you two went on to frolic in Edge City."

"Unconsciousness was a state Vila achieved entirely on his own," Avon commented into his communicator.

"Vila is quite convinced you're the corruptor, Avon," Jenna continued blithely.  "Blake would never be led astray from the paths of righteousness of his own accord."

Avon had no response to that, so Blake answered her, his voice grim. "It was necessary."

Disconcerted by the tone, Jenna hesitated, "Well...are you ready to teleport?"

"Five minutes," he said, and closed the circuit.  He turned and faced the other man.  "Avon...."

"It's over, Blake."

Mute, Blake stared across the room at cold, remote face.  The short distance stretched out between them like an impassable wasteland.

"My relationship with my brother ended when I was sixteen.  I ended it...as I am ending this,"  Avon indicated the bed with a nod of his head.  "As for the he rest of it, I've told you I'll stay with you till Star One.  And that is the last of it...the last of our absurd association."

There was a great aching cavern in Blake's guts.  Slowly, trying to hold the energy that was bleeding out of him, he began to pull on his clothes.  He had to destroy Star One...it meant freedom or slavery for millions.  Nothing in the universe, nothing, was more important than that.  If the chance to win Avon's love was the price, then he would have to pay it.  And if what Avon said was true, then it was better to let him go.  Better for both of them.  Balanced on the edge of the bed, Blake tugged on his boots, strapped them tight.  They felt like a dead weight on his feet.  Dressed, he simply sat there, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.  Sinking inwards, lost in pity for both Avon and himself.  It had ended like this last time...useless, pointless pain.  Depression drew him like a black hole, consuming all energy, all light.

 _No!_ he thought, anger coursing through him, swift and bright.  _No, even if the worst of what he says is true, that I want to own him, he's more a slave to himself than he would ever be to me._   He did not understand his own possessiveness where Avon was concerned, but he knew the last thing he wanted was to destroy Avon's spirit.  And **that** was the essence of slavery.  He could not think about it now, it only muddled his brain.  He would devote himself to the destruction of Star One.  When that was accomplished he would devote himself to keeping Avon with him.

"Blake," Jenna said over the communicator, "are you ready to come up?"

"In a minute."

He got up and walked to where Avon stood by the window.  Abruptly, he pulled Avon to him, kissed him once, a hard, bruising kiss.  Avon's mouth did not give under his, but his hands rose, gripping Blake's arms tightly as they stood there, neither pushing him off nor drawing him closer.  Blake pulled away, staring down into Avon's eyes, dark and unfathomable.

"This is over when we're both dead."  Stepping back, Blake raised the communicator to his lips.  "Liberator," he ordered, "teleport now."

 


End file.
